Like body, like soul
by Mormiel
Summary: The end of the second war is near: desperate times call for desperate measures. A spy is revealed and imprisoned… but not for long… (One-shot vignette, please R&R!)


Title: Like body, like soul (1/1)  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: I owe none of this, the characters all belong to J.K. Rowling – I'm just taking them for a little stroll... respectfully.  
  
Summary: The end of the second war is near: desperate times call for desperate measures. A spy is revealed and imprisoned... but not for long... (One-shot vignette, please R&R!)  
  
A/N: Hey everyone, I finally managed to write my first fan fic (just a sly little idea that came to me last night)! All corrections, criticism, suggestions and reviews are most welcome! Read and enjoy and don't be too hard on me!  
  
***  
  
Like body, like soul  
  
The first thing he saw when he slowly opened his sore black eyes was a dungeon cell door and dancing shadows cast on it by flickering torch light. He slightly tossed his head to keep long strands of black hair from falling into his eyes but immediately regret the movement for a throbbing pain rose up to his temples. With a hoarse moan he tried to straighten his shoulders but the effort was only rewarded by the rattling noise of iron chaining him to the damp stone wall. Yes, he remembered: this was not the dungeon at Hogwarts that he knew so well.  
  
To his surprise the other members of the Order had only reluctantly let him go this night. But eventually they had come to acknowledge that this was their final chance to end the dominion of the Dark Lord once and for all. He knew that tonight he would be revealed as a spy – he had foreseen it. He even had counted on it.  
  
Now it was not long until they would come for him. He sighed and tried again to sit up – this time he managed to get up on his feet, chains clattering sharply once more. The Dark Lord had allowed them to use the Cruciatus curse on him, even physical violence to channel the first outbursts of boiling hatred and spite. Leaning his back against the wall he welcomed the cold slightly alleviating the bruises and small cuts on his body. He closed his eyes and took slow deep breaths to prepare himself for tonight's ordeal.  
  
A slight sneer curled his thin lips only for a moment before it gave way to a concerned wrinkling of the man's pale forehead. He wondered about the outcome but it was too late to waver about their plans. The Order was prepared, the attack was carefully plotted – and the bait had been swallowed.  
  
Distant sounds of footsteps and malicious laughter came to his ears. They were coming. The tall man straightened his slim form once more, another shadow of a sneering grin flashing on his sallow face. It was time.  
  
He flexed the muscles of his arms and gritted his teeth against the unwonted sensation of raw uncontrolled magic searing through his veins. With a blinding flash of white light iron chains and handcuffs fell to the dingy floor followed by a shower of shattered rock and debris. Elegant long fingers brushed dust from freshly torn black robes and a thin figure froze in the midst of rubbing his wrists at the sound of alert and angry voices approaching his cell.  
  
At that moment a burning sensation spread through his entire body and his limbs began to shake. As he threw back his head the swishing black hair started to grow and changed into a silver white colour. A long silver beard covered the front of his black robes like an avalanche of glistening snow and the black pools of his eyes turned into the twinkling blue of a mountain lake. As he took control over the last few violent contortions of his body a still trembling hand reached into a pocket of the black Deatheater robes to take out a golden rimmed pair of half-moon spectacles. This movement caused a small flask clattering to the ground and spilling its dark green contents into a snakelike runnel onto the stone floor. He smiled pensively, who would have thought that Tom Riddle in the end would be deceived by a special brew of Polyjuice Potion.  
  
As the footsteps finally halted outside the door he was prepared for them. He stood in the middle of the cell like a rock, the torch light gleaming in his eyes. He could have waited forever but now it was time to repay his debts, to merit the trust that was placed in him, to blaze a trail for the fulfilling of a prophecy that was made a long time ago. He flexed his fingers causing bright sparks of magic dancing around his fingertips. Who needed a wand – who needed control if control was neither successful nor necessary anymore.  
  
The dungeon cell door suddenly burst open and three Deatheaters became visible. It suddenly came to his mind that he had never worn black before. But when would it be more appropriate than tonight? The smile Albus Dumbledore bore now was neither benevolent nor forgiving.  
  
The final battle was about to begin.  
  
***  
  
Here you go, don't mob me! *wincing a bit* The use of (uncontrolled) magic without a wand indeed is documented (PoA). Merlin knows what an infuriated Albus Dumbledore is capable of in a desperate situation...  
  
I'm looking forward to every kind of reviews! :) Mormiel 


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